eerfully, bravely, for there had always been in her heart
the hope of something better--good days would surely come, when her
husband would do better, and they would be happy yet. This thought
had sustained her many times, but the good, days had never come, and
now--how could she go back to it with no hope. There was nothing
ahead of her but endless toil, just working every day to earn a
living. Oh, was life really such a priceless boon that people should
crave it so!

"Must you really go back to the West, Ellie dear?" her mother asked,
as if she read her daughter's bitter thoughts.

Mrs. Cavers sat up and smiled bravely. "Oh, yes, mother, it's the
West for me; but some day we'll come back again for another one of
these dear, lovely visits. I always felt I would never really be
rested until I got back here and had you to sit beside me. But, of
course, I must go back for the harvest--it is really a beautiful
country, and especially so in the fall of the year, and I have some
business there which I must go and attend to." She did not tell the
nature of the business.

"Ellie, I would like to have you always with me, and your dear little
girl--there's only the four of us, and we are so happy here. Why
can't you stay with us?"

Mrs. Cavers knew why, but she could not tell her mother that she had
very little in the world beyond the price of a ticket back to
Manitoba.

"I've been praying every day since you came, Ellie, that we would
never need to part again," her mother said wistfully. "I can't let
you go, it seems."

Just then the gate clicked and a heavy step came rapidly up the walk.
Mrs. Cavers, starting to her feet, found herself face to face with
Sandy Braden as he came up the steps.

For a few seconds neither of them spoke. Then Mrs. Cavers held out
her hand. "Mr. Braden," she said. Words failed her.

"I want to speak to you for a few minutes," he said.

She opened the door and led him into the little parlour.

"Mrs. Cavers, I know that my presence is full of bitter memories for
you," he began. "You have no reason to think kindly of me, I well
know; but no one else could do this for me, or I would not force
myself on you this way----"

She interrupted him. "You were kind to me and my little girl once;
you did for us what few would have done. I have never thanked you,
but I have always been and always will be grateful; and when I think
of you--that is what I remember."

There was a silence between them